


Laying in the Light (The Porn Version!)

by Shoshanna Gold (shoshannagold)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-14
Updated: 2009-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshannagold/pseuds/Shoshanna%20Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The original version of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/54776">Laying in the Light</a> has a sweet ending that's a lot of fun. This is another way that is might have gone: less sweet, more sweat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laying in the Light (The Porn Version!)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction based on the characters in the HBO miniseries.

Nate had dismissed his staff early today, determined that for once they'd get to enjoy the long weekend. He'd been tempted to stay at work and take advantage of the peace and quiet of an empty office. Their current round of projects had been eating away all his time and there was a veritable mountain of administrative paperwork on his desk, but his assistant had given him the evil eye, and, well, it would be damn hypocritical of him to preach about the necessity of a work-life balance and then not try to maintain one himself. Instead he'd grabbed a couple of stacks of paperwork to work on at home. There wasn't much point in having endured months of renovations if he wasn't going to use the study that had resulted from them, and, fuck, it wasn't like there was anybody around to distract him this weekend.

Indeed, the house was resonantly empty when he let himself in. Over the last couple of months he'd trained himself not to call out to let Brad know he was home, the silence echoing back at him a sharp reminder that nobody else was there. Instead he called for Midget, who usually came to greet him when he got home. It wasn't that she was that well-trained – even former Marine officers couldn't make a cat follow orders – but by the way she wound herself around his ankles and purred he thought that maybe she was lonely, too.

"Christ, Fick, enough with the self-pity," he said out loud, dropping his briefcase and bending down to scoop Midget up. That was how things were and griping about them, even to himself, wouldn't make anything better. He was a Marine. He made do. And now that he was done with the bullshit moto speech, he should get something to eat and go for the run he'd skipped this morning.

He'd left the windows open this morning and as he walked through the house, Midget nestled comfortably in his arms, he could hear the comforting sounds of the neighbourhood: kids playing in the pool next door, the jingle of a bicycle bell, the sound of somebody mowing their lawn. Except – that sounded like it they were mowing his grass, given how sharp and loud the motor was. Strange, the gardening service wasn't supposed to come until Tuesday. It didn't much matter to him on what day of the week the grass got cut so long as it happened at some point, but it was a small, family-owned business, and they were incredibly customer-service oriented, so he was surprised he hadn't gotten a call.

Well, it couldn't hurt to check in with whoever was mowing his lawn, make sure everything was okay. It was usually Tony, the owner's son, who'd been contemplating a career in the military; the last time Nate had seen him he was trying to decide between Army or Navy ROTC. He put Midget on the sofa, apologizing to her when she mewled at him, and went out the patio doors to the backyard to take another one for the team.

The noise from the lawnmower was further away now and Nate was walking toward the far side of the house when the mower came out from behind the garage.

It wasn't Tony.

It was Brad. Brad, in nothing but old cut-offs and flip-flops, all of him glowing golden in the sun, even though his arms and neck were much darker than his torso. Brad, covered with the lightest film of sweat, with bits of grass stuck to his legs, the strong muscles in his abs flex as he pushed the mower. Brad, who stopped what he was doing, the sound from the machine going quiet as he let go of it and smiled at Nate, looking as genuinely happy as Nate had ever seen him, before his expression turned more predatory.

Nate's brain short-circuited for a second. When it came back online, Brad was walking toward him, his stride purposeful, and Nate flashed on him ten years ago walking through the desert as though he owned it, covered head to toe in a MOPP suit, M4 by his side. Nate's then, and Nate's now, he thought as Brad reached him.

"You're not the gardener," Nate said.

"Did you want me to be?" Brad quirked an eyebrow and grinned.

Nate tried a different tact. "You're home early."

"Caught the red eye out of Seoul."

Nate shook his head and grinned, his smile felt like it might split his face. "You're home a _month_ early," he clarified.

"We were compromised and they had to get us out of there. Don't worry: nobody was hurt. Intel got wind of it before any shit came down. I'll tell you more about it later." Brad moved closer, and lifted a hand to Nate's face, cupping it for a minute and looking at him intently before drawing him in for a kiss.

Five months. Five months since Nate had touched Brad, had his hands on this body, this mouth open to his. Brad was right, they could talk later. Right then, he just needed to touch. He moved closer and wrapped his arms around Brad, smoothing his hands over Brad's tattoo, enjoying the feeling of the inked skin, wet from the heat. He kept his hands moving, though, touching the firm hard muscles wherever he could reach until touch wasn't enough and he needed to taste, too. He pulled away from the kiss and sucked at Brad's jaw, down his neck, biting at the collarbone and inhaling deeply. Brad smelled like fresh cut grass and sunlight, like he hadn't spent the last five months stealing through rice paddies in cammies.

Brad only let him do that for a minute before he tugged at Nate's hair, pulling him into another soul-deep kiss. He made a hungry noise into his mouth and brought his hands down to Nate's waist, tugging his shirt out from his pants and sliding a hand under it, caressing the small of Nate's back before reaching further down, slipping a hand under the band of his boxers.

Oh, fuck. Brad's fingers were hovering over the top of the cleft of Nate's ass, just barely brushing down into it before coming back up and Nate was already rock hard. He shamelessly rubbed against the thigh between his legs, one hand clenching Brad's hip, the other doing some recon of its own, groping Brad's ass, reaching down to touch that smooth thigh, before pushing up underneath the leg of the cut-offs. His first assessment had been correct: Brad was freeballing.

He wanted to drop to his knees and taste there too, get Brad's cock so deep down his throat he was gagging on it, all those months of separation and there was nothing that could take the place of that feeling, certainly not phone sex stolen on those rare occasions that Brad could shake the men and Nate could close his office door. But Brad wouldn't let him, his grip firm on Nate's arm as he pulled away from the kiss.

"A little patience, Nate, and you can have whatever you want." His tone was ragged and the need on his face was humbling, and Nate had to kiss him again, had to feel that breath in his own lungs. But Brad was pulling away again, his hands stroking up Nate's chest before he took Nate's cotton dress shirt in both hands and tugged, ripping it down the middle, the buttons flying away as if in protest.

Nate had dozens of shirts, and there wasn't one of them he wouldn't sacrifice to see Brad look at him like that as he tossed the ripped garment to the grass, the need on his face an echo of Nate's own.

"I am going to fuck you until you can't remember what it was like to not have my cock shoved up your ass," Brad promised, his hands going to Nate's chest, thumbing his nipples roughly. "I hope you don't have plans this weekend, sir, because I am prepared to tell everybody from the Commander-in-Chief on down that you can't come out to play because you're on your hands and knees for me, spread wide while I open you with my fingers and lick you clean with my tongue, just so I can make you messy all over again. You're going to be fucking filthy, Nate, covered with spunk and spit, and, Christ, so open for me."

Brad was pinching Nate's nipples as he spoke, twisting with that rhythm that Nate loved, and between the exquisite pain that throbbed through him and what Brad was saying to him, Nate broke. He pulled away, knowing it would throw Brad off just enough for Nate to take advantage of the element of surprise. He tackled Brad, sending them both down to the ground.

Brad being Brad, though, immediately turned the situation to his own advantage, rolling them fast so that he was on top, straddling Nate. "Never let is be said that you don't take what you want," he said, grinning and lowering himself so that he was braced on his hands by Nate's head, so close Nate could see every laugh line around his eyes, could map for himself the impact of this latest tour on Brad.

"I want _you_," Nate said, "I'm pretty sure that I was clear on that point, but in case I wasn't, let me show you." He ground up into Brad, and pulled him down that last inch to fuse their mouths together, fucking Brad's mouth with his tongue while reaching down to get his hand back under the cut-offs,

"Copy that, sir," said Brad, arching up into Nate's touch. Brad was sweaty to the touch, wet like he'd already come all over himself, and Nate had barely gotten started. His angle wasn't great since he was under Brad, but they'd fucked under more imperfect circumstances than in their own backyard with a seven-foot security fence - it might be fucking elitist, but there was something to be said for gated communities - and he could more than make do.

He took his hand away, just for a minute, and Brad let out a low groan. "Fuck, Nate, c'mon. It's been five fucking months. I'm not made of steel."

"Not even ice?" Nate asked, mocking, but leaned up for another kiss. He held Brad's head firmly and said in as even a tone as possible, "Hands and knees, Brad, right here on top of me."

There was something to be said for clarity of instruction, because in zero time he had Brad stretched out over him, with vastly improved access to all the important parts. Nate slide down on the grass, loving the dewy warmth under his skin until his mouth was level with Brad's pecs. He bite and licked and kissed, making Brad groan and curse and damn Nate to hell for being a cocktease. Nate didn't take it personally; that's what he was at that moment in time, after all.

He moved down further, between Brad's legs, and - fuck. The shorts were low-cut, had been barely hanging off Brad's hips, and now that he was was hard, the tip of the head of his cock was pushing out the waistband, leaking everywhere. "Oh, Jesus Christ," Nate said, and, fuck it, he couldn't hold back anymore. He sucked it into his mouth, not even bothering to unbutton the shorts, just running his tongue along the ridge, scooping up as much precome as possible.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Nate." Brad was still on his hands and knees, looking down at Nate. "Five fucking months of wet dreams and combat jacks about that month, and, goddamnit, this is even better than I remember."

Nate didn't answer; he had better things to do. He slowly unbuttoned Brad's jeans, sliding down with every inch of flesh exposed until Brad's throat was all the way down his throat, and then he swallowed, hard.

Brad had been still, letting Nate take him in at his own pace, but he knew that signal, and started thrust, mercilessly fucking down Nate's throat. Nate could do this for about five minutes before needing to pull off for a breath, but it didn't take nearly that long until Brad tensed above him, keening as he came. Nate barely had to swallow, that's how deep he had him, and then Brad was pulling away, moving down on top of Nate again, kissing and licking at Nate's mouth.

"It might be time for a new MOS," Brad said, sucking at Nate's lower lip. "I could get used to this kind of field work."


End file.
